Chapter Four
“I can’t stay too long because Mom’s waiting for me.” Colby sat on the world’s least comfortable, ultramodern barstool at the marble island in her father’s massive kitchen. As with most things, Jenna favored the style of the wood-and-nickel stool over other considerations such as comfort. Colby sipped the Earl Grey iced tea her father had handed her and set aside her mental to-do list for the moment.
“How’d things go with Alec last night?” He sat beside her, his long frame dwarfing the stool.
The memory of Alec’s intent expression as he sweetly bundled up that bouquet of tulips warmed her chest. That meal had been more memorable than chicken marsala—elegant without being fussy. The music, flowers, candles, and presentation had made her feel pampered and relaxed, which was precisely what she wanted A CertainTea to do for its guests.
Of course, her dad only cared about the bottom line.
“We came to an agreement about making changes.” Alec had also offered to reimburse her for having to reprint new menus. An offer she’d declined because, honestly, Alec needed a fresh start as much as she did.
“Good.” Her dad smiled, his brown eyes lit with a bit of humor. “I’m glad you compromised. Your brother’s been concerned about Alec. And I knew you were smart enough not to ignore his feedback.”
Although somewhat manipulative in his tactics, Alec had proved his point, and they’d had a productive discussion that morning with the staff about next steps. She assumed his high-handed way of establishing authority with the cooks stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t been involved in hiring any of them. If he didn’t settle down once they all got to know one another, she’d be playing mediator every day—the opposite of what she wanted. Of course, her dad played mediator every day at work.
“How can you stand being in the middle of Jenna and Hunter all the time?” If she had to work with those two every day, she’d be pulling out her hair. “Isn’t it exhausting?”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Then again, you know something about that from being in the middle of your mom and me for so long.”
“Not every day, though.” Even she heard the whoosh of relief in her voice.
Her father laughed. “I’ll take dealing with Jenna and Hunter every day to dealing with your mom any day.”
“Be nice, Dad.” Colby understood her parents’ inherent incompatibility, but she wouldn’t let him pick on her mom. “If it weren’t for her early love of green tea’s health benefits back in the eighties, you might never have started CTC.”
“Sorry.” He patted her hand without acknowledging the truth of her remark. “I’ll give Leslie this much—you and Hunter turned out great, and I can’t take much credit for that.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Colby couldn’t mask the surprised grin prompted by his confession. Truthfully, the quiet admission of his absentee-father status was the closest he’d ever come to an apology. “I’d pass along the compliment, but she’d probably faint from shock.”
“Actually, this topic leads to why I asked you here. I need help with Gentry.” His smile evaporated as deep grooves lined his forehead. “She needs . . . ah, hell, I don’t know what she needs, but some direction would be nice. Honestly, she’s more like your mom than you are.”
At twenty-five, Gentry hadn’t yet accomplished much more than provoking her parents. Having been raised by a series of nannies, she’d predictably gone through a healthy dose of teenage rebellion, the inky evidence of which still decorated her left wrist and ankle. After dropping out of college for a while “to travel,” she’d tried photography. When that didn’t take, their father had coaxed her back to college. Still a few credits shy of graduating, Gentry was no closer to setting any serious goals.
“Maybe Mom and Gentry don’t always have their feet on the ground, but in some ways I think they get more out of the journey than we do.” When her father shot her a cockeyed stare, she added, “I talked to Gentry a few days ago. She’s found work as a live mannequin and has started dating a new guy.”
“The hot dog guy, for chrissakes.” He drummed his fingers on the counter.
“Hot dog guy?”
“She told us he was an entrepreneur,” he snorted. “Turns out he’s a hot dog vendor in the city.”
Colby smothered a grin at her sister’s way of goading her parents. “To be fair, she didn’t lie.”
Her father rolled his eyes, then he glanced at the floor, frowning. “Nothing in her life has any permanence.”
The concern in his voice cut through any humor Colby might’ve found in the situation. Like her dad, she worried about her sister’s untethered way of drifting through life. Enjoying the journey had its merits, but so did security and purpose.
“So what can I do? I won’t spy. Besides, Gentry doesn’t exactly listen to my advice any more than yours and Jenna’s.”
“Would you consider hiring her to work at the restaurant?” He raised his hands in surrender. “I know we’re in the process of restructuring our roles, so I’m not forcing you to do this. But I’m asking you to think about your sister.”
Colby froze. She loved Gentry but didn’t exactly relish the idea of babysitting another difficult person every day. Her marriage had proved that job to be futile and painful. “Did she ask you to talk to me?”
“No. As far as I can tell, she’s perfectly content to be aimless.” He shook his head. “I’d like you to pretend it’s your idea. Make her feel like you need her. Like you want her to work with you.”
A CertainTea was supposed to be Colby’s “happy place,” not a job where she’d be a mediator, counselor, and pseudo mother to people like Alec and Gentry. Colby rubbed her hand over her face. “She may be aimless, but she’s not stupid. She’ll see you engineering this from a mile away.”
Colby knew Alec wouldn’t want to train Gentry in the kitchen, nor could she picture her sister carrying heavy trays or waiting on customers. Colby had hired a hostess, which left office support as the sole option. Now that she’d put her personal assets at risk, she didn’t need anyone around who would make her job harder.
“Is that a no?” Her dad sighed with resignation.
He looked exhausted—maybe even a little sweaty—sitting there rubbing his knee like it ached. And he had invested in her dream. The least she could do for him was help manage his stress.
“I’ll ask. Just don’t be shocked if she’s not interested.” Colby glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to go. Is she around?”
“No, she’s shopping with Jenna.”
“They do have that in common.” Censure colored her voice.
She respected Jenna’s accomplishments, but the woman’s picture was probably listed in Merriam-Webster’s dictionary under the term “acquisitive.” In the twenty-six years since marrying Colby’s father, she’d redecorated their McMansion four times and remodeled the kitchen twice. Her shoe closet was bigger than most people’s dining rooms, and her jewelry collection rivaled Harry Winston’s Beverly Hills store. In particular, Colby thought the kitchen remodels monumentally wasteful because Jenna’s cooking skills consisted of reheating whatever leftovers remained from wherever they’d eaten the night before—if that.
“It’s what girls do.” Her dad sighed.
“Not all girls.” Colby stood, wishing that hadn’t slipped out. He’d been open with her, after all. And Jenna worked exhaustively for the money to buy her precious things. “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just feeling a lot of pressure lately, and now I’m late for Mom.”
“Well, I won’t keep you.” He rose from the stool. “Thanks for helping. I hope you can get through to Gentry.”
Colby rose up on her toes and kissed her father goodbye. “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.” He waved her off.
Colby fastened a bit of wire-welded fencing to a corner post in the garden. She gulped down half the bottle of water she’d brought out to the yard and gazed at the horizon. The sun hovered just above the trees now, painting a golden-peach wash across the sky.
Skies like this had been one of the few things that Mark had been able to appreciate when depressed. She withdrew from the memory of him lying in bed silently gazing out the window at such sunsets, and wondered if the guilty reflex of comparing the present to her past would ever end. Unfortunately, it seemed Alec’s return had set her back a step or two from that goal.
Setting the bottle down, she assessed her progress. Two sides completed, two to go. “Mom, if we want to finish tonight, I need more help.”
“My fingers are sore from handling that wire.” Her mom gently pressed her fingertips together twice.
Colby suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She’d split two nails tonight, but unlike her mom, she wouldn’t complain. The instant gratification and sense of accomplishment from doing handiwork were worth it.
“How about wearing the gardening gloves?” Colby unrolled more fencing from the spool by kicking it across the grass. “At least come help cut this section, please.”
“Don’t get snippy. If you would’ve let me hire someone to do the work, we could both be inside having a glass of wine like normal people.” Her mother came over with wire cutters.
“I’m pretty certain you’ll still squeeze in that glass of wine.” Colby shot her mom an amused look. “Come on, we’re almost finished.”
“Don’t rush me. I’m going as fast as I can. My arthritis hurts, you know.”
Colby’s chuckle emerged as more of a brief snort. Her mom didn’t have arthritis. She did have a habit of throwing out references to old-people problems as a way of reminding Colby that she needed help.
“When we’re done, you should stay for a while. There’s an interesting documentary I taped on this whole thing with legalizing marijuana.” Her mom tapped a finger to her cheek. “Wine is one thing, but these . . . potheads . . . I don’t know if this is a good decision for Oregon.”
“Potheads?” Colby smiled. “I think the term is ‘stoners,’ and I wonder if your poet warrior is one, like Yeats.”
“Richard is not a pothead!”
“How would you know?”
“He’s not!” Her mom drew her brows downward. “I’d know.”
“Oh? You mean like he knows about your dog?” Colby scoffed. She, too, had let infatuation trick her into thinking she knew Mark much too soon. “Have you admitted yet that you don’t have a dog?”
“Of course.” Her mom then grimaced. “Although he may be under the impression that I recently lost one.”
“Oh, Mom! That’s a terrible lie.”
“It’s a white lie.” She flipped her hands upward. “Who does it hurt?”
Colby shook her head. “Now I’m going to have to pretend, too. What’s our dearly departed dog’s name?”
“Snickers—a brown, gold, and cream-colored collie.” She smiled, proud of her inventive fib. In a twisted way, Colby almost admired her mother’s fluid relationship with reality. It would be much easier to ignore bad memories if she could continually reinvent herself and rewrite the past.
“Don’t cry to me when the truth comes out and Richard can’t believe another word you say.” She couldn’t blame her mom for wanting a relationship. Most people did. If Colby ever took that leap again—no, even that thought tightened her stomach.
“According to you, he’ll be too high to remember, anyway.” She sniffed, and then, in a classic maneuver, steered the conversation away from her flaws to someone else’s. “I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you or your brother wasting your time and money in those pot stores. Your sister, on the other hand. She’ll probably camp out there.”
“Mom!” Colby set her hands on her hips. “Don’t start in on Gentry.”
Gentry may have been in need of guidance, but she was basically good-hearted, if still a bit juvenile and self-centered. And honestly, Colby’s mother had made a habit of trying just about everything once. If she hadn’t tried pot yet, it was only a matter of time before she wandered into a legal dispensary. Perhaps even with her new poet friend.
“Sorry.” Her mother had the grace to blush.
“Hello!” Alec’s voice beckoned from the side of the house, surprising them both as he rounded the corner carrying a small box. “I saw your car in the driveway, but no one answered the doorbell.”
He’d made good on his promise from last night. She hadn’t been able to count on Mark to follow through with something as important as his therapy, let alone little things like this. Alec nodded at Colby, and a swell of gratitude and temptation cracked that fortress around her heart. How long had it been since anyone had done her a small kindness without expecting something in return?
“Alec.” Her mom wiped her hands on her jeans and started toward him with open arms. “My, my! Such a handsome young man. Come give me a hug.”
He did look handsome. Dark jeans, a crisp white shirt, his floppy bangs playfully dangling above his eyes. The late-afternoon sun bathed him in a movie star–quality glow. Colby gave herself a mental smackdown for that dippy reverie.
“Not so young, Leslie. But thanks.” Alec gave in to her embrace. “You look wonderful, too.”
“Thank you, dear.” Her mom smoothed her hair, preening. “What brings you by?”
“I’m having dinner with my mom, so I thought I’d drop off a few extra pear croustades.” He smiled broadly before winking at Colby. “I remembered how much you always liked them.”
Colby’s reluctant heart skipped another beat in response to his thoughtfulness and soft spot for her mom. Then again, maybe he just wanted to secure his job. The sad fact that she couldn’t trust his intentions skimmed plaster over those cracks Alec had just opened.
Her mother’s hands waved excitedly before she took the box and opened it. “Oh, thank you! This calls for coffee.”
Coffee, of course. Never tea. Her mother never drank tea anymore.
“Shouldn’t we finish this fence first? The rabbits, remember?” Colby guzzled her last bit of water, belatedly realizing that she must look frightful in her grubby jeans, gray T-shirt, and sweaty ponytail.
“Let’s finish tomorrow. Give my fingers a chance to recover.” Her mom wiggled the fingers of her one free hand.
“Looks like quite a project. I didn’t know you gardened, Leslie.” Alec’s gaze wandered from the garden to Colby’s mom. “I’m impressed.”
“You come grab fresh ingredients whenever you need them.” Her mother cast a proud grin his way and touched his shoulder like a practiced flirt. Colby itched with discomfort at her mom’s behavior, given that her own sexual impulses had gone into hibernation until yesterday. “Can you stay for coffee?”
“Thanks, but no. My mom’s waiting on me.”
“Another time, then.” Her mom patted Alec’s cheek. “We have to catch up, especially now that you’ll be working with Colby. I still can’t believe it. After all those years you practiced your cooking on us, and now you two are running a restaurant.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity to do what I love.” A wistful expression passed over his face. “And who could ask for a better boss?”
“We’ll see if you’re still saying that in a month,” Colby teased, grateful that he acknowledged that she was, in fact, his boss, not his partner. Although, in a parallel universe, she could imagine a partnership with him being satisfying.
Alec’s heart had taken a lot of beatings thanks to his dad’s antagonism, but apparently his rib cage had absorbed the blows without puncturing the resilient little muscle. Alec might not be considered a tough man by other people’s standards, but those folks weren’t using the right measure.
“I need to run, but it’s nice to see you again.” Alec shoved his now-empty hands in his pockets, like always. His nervous tell.
“Say hello to your mom from me.” Her mom turned uncharacteristically serious. “She’s over the moon to have you back home.”
A hush settled over the yard as Joe’s ghost floated among them, right where they’d all played so often. She could almost hear the giggles and shrieks coming back to life as nostalgia grabbed hold. Now her mother, Alec, and she stood there waiting for something, or some words, that never came.
“See you tomorrow.” Alec nodded at Colby and then disappeared around the corner.
“Let’s eat these fresh tarts now.” Her mom waved her over. “Alec looks much better than I remember. Such a gangly teen, and then so gaunt after Joe died. Guess I never paid enough attention to that one.”
Neither did I, Colby absently thought, glancing over her shoulder toward the Morgans’ house.
“That was excellent, Mom.” Alec loaded his dish into the dishwasher. “Nice and tender.”
“I learned from the best,” she said, teasing him.
He smiled and slung his arm over her shoulder. Her brown hair had grayed substantially, but her green eyes still sparkled with gold, like his. He also shared her Eastern European square jaw and high cheekbones, her long neck, and her introverted personality.
If Joe had been his father’s favorite, then Alec had been his mother’s. Thank God, because he’d needed someone on his side. Someone who’d encouraged his passion rather than disparaged it. His desire for his family to heal was complicated by his dad’s disposition, but Alec could swallow his pride—act more like Joe to make his father happier—if it’d save his family. He owed that much to his mom, anyway.
“My best student.” He crossed his arms. “And my best teacher.”
She sighed. “You look happy. Things must be going well with Colby.”
Colby. Even muddied and sweaty from working in her mother’s garden, she’d looked sweeter than his croustades.
Her grateful expression tonight had made him feel better than when he’d won his James Beard Award. As far as amends went, his tiny gesture with her mom wasn’t much. It would take hundreds of those efforts, but eventually the cumulative effect would make Colby’s life better.
Sadly, nothing could make up for everything his silence had stolen from her.
“So far, so good.” He sat at the kitchen table where he’d grown up, and stretched out his legs. He’d left here at eighteen, still such a boy. Life since then had hardened him into a man. “Leslie asked me to say hello, by the way.”
“I rarely run into her, now that all you kids are grown and out of the house.” His mom folded the dishrag over the sink and stared blankly out the kitchen window. Like earlier this evening, Joe’s specter danced in the shadows.
Being in this house had been tough for Alec ever since his brother died. Photographs and memorabilia were scattered everywhere. The oldest ones showcased two close brothers with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, or Joe sitting on his shoulders. But as they’d grown up, they were more often photographed sitting across from each other—always separated by some invisible force field—the pictures reflecting a new reality. Those photos taunted him, reminding him of how much time they’d wasted on one-upmanship.
“A lot has changed since then,” his mom continued. She turned, her expression contemplative. “I’m grateful you’re staying in town, but it’s awkward to feel indebted to the Cabots. Are you okay with it?”
“I’m fine.” Colby reminded him of Joe and Mark, but not in the way his mother presumed. She had no idea of the guilt Alec carried around like a pack mule.
Her aging eyes took on a cloudy, faraway look, something he noticed with more frequency since Joe died. His brother’s death had been a tragedy, but for his mom, Alec’s leaving had dealt another blow. She’d been stuck here with no one to turn to for comfort, because her husband sure couldn’t offer any. Anger and bitterness had made that man’s already-insensitive nature as impenetrable as a coat of armor.
“Do you still have a crush on Colby?” Her gaze refocused on him.
“What?” Alec sat up straighter, his body warming.
“You heard me. She might’ve palled around here with Joe most of the time, but you’d watched her every move whenever she came by. She was also the only one you didn’t yell at for sneaking licks of batter when you were experimenting.”
Alec scratched his neck. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“You’re avoiding the question, which tells me you still like her.”
“Likes who?” His dad’s voice shocked them both. When had he sneaked into the house? And how the hell did he manage it?
At six feet two inches and with 220 pounds of firm muscle for a man of his age, Alec’s dad wasn’t normally light-footed. His chestnut hair—the only trait they shared—had its fair share of gray highlights. Deep grooves in his forehead and bracketing his mouth always gave his father a grim appearance. Of course, the lack of good humor and affection didn’t help, either.
“No one,” Alec said at the same time his mother said, “Colby.”
His father barely acknowledged Alec as he passed by on his way to the refrigerator. He retrieved a beer and popped the tab. “I can’t believe you can work for Colby, let alone like her. If it weren’t for her and that son of a bitch she married—”
“Frank,” his mom said, “you always liked Colby.”
“That was before. Things changed . . .” Alec’s dad waved her off. “You’ll accept anything that keeps him in town, but don’t expect me to.”
“Dad, how was happy hour?” Alec diverted his father’s attention to prevent his parents from arguing. “Mom said you went out with Craig.”
“He’s thinking of moving to Los Angeles to be near his daughter. She just had a baby, and Craig’s wife wants to be closer to their grandkid.” His dad shook his head, apparently unable to comprehend his old partner on the force embracing family or change or life. He’d given up on all that when Joe died.
“I’m jealous.” His mother then smiled at Alec. “I can’t wait to be a grandmother one day.”
Oh, brother.
His father rolled his eyes. “Well, this one’s not going to meet any women if he’s always in this kitchen with you.”
And there it was. The “mommy’s boy” put-down he’d heard for much of his life. Maybe he should take comfort in the fact that some things never changed. Not even the way his dad grinned after those remarks, as if this kind of teasing was funny.
“It could take a while, Mom.” Alec recovered from the swipe. “My hours make it tough. Working nights, weekends, and holidays. Not exactly a profession for a family-oriented man.”
Then again, Colby would be sharing those hours. It made them uniquely compatible in that one aspect. Too bad his conscience wouldn’t let him pursue her while keeping his secret about Mark. He had no choice if he hoped to do everything he’d come home to do, even if his secret ate away at him bit by bit each day.
“Excuses are like assholes; everybody has one. Work isn’t the problem. The truth is that you’d have to break out of your shell to go after a woman. Not exactly your strong suit, is it?” His dad chugged from his beer can, crushed it, and tossed it in the trash.
Alec could recount all the ways he’d toughened up. Could mention he wasn’t that same shy teen his dad never took the time to know. But his dad wouldn’t believe him, so the argument would only put his mother in the middle. Alec clamped down on his temper, knowing that if he wanted a relationship with a woman, he could have one, no matter what his dad thought.
Plenty of women had found Alec and his success very attractive, a lesson Joe had unfortunately learned the hard way the night before his fatal hike.
Alec mentally recoiled from that memory when, for the first time that evening, his father looked him squarely in the eye. All traces of humor, twisted or otherwise, were gone. “But that’s fine with me, ’cause I don’t want any Cabot babies in this house.”
Time for another change of subject, because he wasn’t about to argue with his dad about his nonexistent relationship with Colby. “Want a croustade?”
“A croustade?” His dad shook his head derisively and laughed. “A croustade.”
Still, he took one before stalking into the family room and turning the TV volume up to full blare.
Alec unclenched his fists, which had been balled up on his thighs.
“Don’t pay attention to him.” His mother patted his shoulder.
How often had Alec heard that advice . . .
“It’s time for me to go.” Alec rose. “I guess Dad won’t want to come to the soft opening in a couple of weeks, but will you? Maybe bring a friend or two?”
She pressed her lips together, brows raised. He’d put her on the spot, but he wanted her support when he officially returned to the local restaurant scene.
“Sure, honey.” She patted his arm. “I can’t wait to hear everyone rave about your food.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
Instead of going directly to his car, he wandered through the darkening backyard, grateful for the warm breeze. Whacking through the overgrown arborvitae, he found the path that led to the aging octagonal tree house, centered on the tree trunk, about eight feet above the ground. Although long neglected, it still appeared to be in decent shape thanks to Mr. Cabot’s and his father’s solid clapboard construction job. He smiled, remembering being seven and thinking this fort was the coolest place on earth.
Alec tested the ladder rungs before climbing inside. He used the flashlight on his phone to peek around the space that held his boyhood hopes and dreams.
Animals had chewed through the old quilts and mattress, but an abandoned tapestry still hung on one wall. Plastic milk crates, emptied of their old treasures, littered the floor. The clear PVC curtains they’d hung in the windows to keep rain out were missing a few panels. Colby would be horrified. She’d always kept it clean, mostly because that had been the price Hunter demanded if she wanted to hang out with them.
Closing his eyes, Alec inhaled through his nose, taking in the familiar scents that opened the floodgates to many memories. The good ones. The years when Joe had wanted to be part of Alec’s life.
“Why can’t I stay?” Joe whined.
“Because you’re too young.”
“I’m in middle school now.” Joe straightened his spine, as if trying to compete with Alec’s height.
“Barely. Besides, Hunter and I have our own plans.” Alec tossed his sleeping bag on the mattress. “I’ll sleep out here with you some other night, Joe.”
Joe’s frown softened. “Promise?”
“Promise.” Alec tossed Joe a peanut-butter-and-fudge brownie, which Joe shoved into his mouth in almost one bite.
“One more?” he managed to say between chews.
“Only if you go home now.”
“Okay.” Joe held out his hand, and then, with a little sigh, turned to leave. At the top of the ladder, he said, “Next weekend is my turn, right?”
“Sure.” Alec sighed, anticipating a sleepless night in the tree house with Joe and his thousand questions. “Now go home.”
Naturally, Alec had taken his brother’s love for granted. He’d shooed him away as often as he’d given in. What he’d give now for a second chance. To turn back time and clear the air rather than let his wounded pride drive him to twist the knife.
Clearing his throat, Alec climbed back down the ladder, guilt cinched around him like a straitjacket. On his way back along the path, he heard faint music and other noises coming from Leslie Cabot’s. Veering to his right, he pushed through the shrubs leading to her yard.
In the distant glow of the back-porch lights, he saw Colby finishing her mother’s garden fence.
“Need help?”
“Oh!” She jumped. “Jeez, you scared me. What were you doing back there?”
“Checking out the tree house.”
Her face lit, and with her high ponytail, she looked almost as young as when they’d actually hung out back there. “Really? I haven’t been in ages.”
“We’ve been replaced by a family of squirrels.”
She laughed, lifting his mood. He’d always loved the sound of her laughter and the twinkle in those tipped-up eyes. “I hope they’ve enjoyed our little haven as much as we did.”
She blushed then, and he wondered if she might be remembering that old kiss. Probably not. It had only counted for one or two minutes among the thousands they’d spent there. Insignificant to her, anyway.
Her flush faded as her expression turned melancholy, and he suspected she thought of Joe.
“Too bad adults don’t have tree houses, too,” he said.
“Maybe I should’ve named my restaurant The Tea House,” she teased.
“A place for grown-up dreams.” They stared at each other, her face filling with approval, and he suspected she, too, missed the comfort that place of lost innocence had provided. Alec reached for the fencing. “Let me help.”
Colby paused before handing him the wire cutters. “You know, I’d worried things between us would be awkward, but you’ve gone out of your way to make it easy. Now it sort of feels like old times with us.”
If reminding her of old times made her smile like that, he’d find a million other ways to be the friend she remembered fondly.